Ambivalence
by Sock Fiend
Summary: "There is a hideous, yellowish-purple bruise adorning the side of Eileen's face. The baby's hand touches it, making her wince and he smiles a dumb toothless smile, completely oblivious to the pain he's caused her." Rated for non-graphic sex and abuse.


_MA: Has Snape ever been loved by anyone?_

_JKR: Yes, he has, which in some ways makes him more culpable even than Voldemort, who never has._

_'''_

He's drunk again. Eileen can tell from the pungent smell of the ale on his breath and the hard, heavy way he stumbles into bed. His hand finds its way to her breast and he slurs something into her ear that she can't understand. She's rigid as a board when he roughly slants himself inside her. After he finishes, she dully notes that there are a few drops of red on the sheets- a semi-regular occurrence with Tobias.

A few weeks and one missed cycle later, their mistake makes itself known. Marriage isn't negotiable. People would talk.

'''

She flinches instinctively when her wand is broken. Tobias is cruel enough to do it in front of her, snapping it like a mere twig in his hands. What she's viewed since she was eleven as an extension of her arm is now lying in splintered pieces on the floor. Eileen looks at herself in their filthy, cracked mirror. She feels contempt for herself, feels contempt for the thing growing inside of her. Sometimes she even finds herself hating it. A part of her knows that this is irrational; it didn't ask to be conceived.

Five months pass by and downstairs, she hears the worn out sofa groan underneath her husband's weight. He turns on the television that they shouldn't be able to afford, to save for things like diapers and baby clothes. She isn't eating nearly the amount she should be. In the darkness of the bedroom, laying on the mattress with only a damp, moth-eaten blanket to cover her, she wonders if it will die. It's mid-autumn now, and as a broken streetlamp emits a dim, artificial light through the window, she wishes she could see leaves falling.

And it kicks for the first time.

For a moment, she is completely still, thinking she had only imagined it. Eileen's vision is blurring slightly and she folds in more on herself, wrapping her arms around her swollen belly. The effortful laughter of a game show audience travels up the stairs as she feels another kick and a few tears travel down her face. She is surprised; sentimentality has never come this easy for her.

'''

Eileen cringes whenever the baby cries to be held. Children were never her strong suit. Despite this, Tobias leaves her to name it, almost regarding it not as his child, but as an additional piece of furniture- one that smells and makes too much noise. She decides on 'Severus'- strong, unyielding, no-nonsense, and in retrospect, entirely unfitting for an infant.

She hushes it irritably, desperately, but it won't stop screaming. Finally she takes it in her arms, awkwardly cradling it back and forth, and oddly it seems to soothe him.

There is a hideous, yellowish-purple bruise adorning the side of Eileen's face. The baby's hand touches it, making her wince and he smiles a dumb toothless smile, completely oblivious to the pain he's caused her.

'''

In January, Severus turns five. He is a well-behaved child, helping his mother clean the few dishes they have and prepare Tobias's supper with adult-like solemnity. He has already learnt at a young age that neither of his parents will tolerate foolishness or whining, especially his father. Tobias dislikes him; it's a fact he wastes no energy in attempting to hide. Severus is ugly- too much like her.

Eileen isn't blind. She can see the air of neglect in her son's ill-fitting clothes and unwashed hair... whenever she catches a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes and knows he's been crying, or hears his stomach growl and watches as he muffles the empty sound guiltily with his hands, like him needing food is some fault of his own. But, she can also see how her life has turned out; the man passed out on the couch, their dingy, rundown house on Spinner's End. Eileen has become accustomed to ignoring these things.

'''

One evening, the alcohol in Tobias's bottle vanishes. This doesn't sound like an unusual event, but it is for the fact that it happens in front of their eyes in a split second, without a trace. Tobias's eyes widen in surprise and the bottle shatters on the floor as he drops it. She sees the confusion and unadulterated fear on Severus's thin face. He didn't _mean_ to make it happen. It just had.

Realization slowly dawns on Tobias's face and his stare changes focus from the boy, to Eileen, and back again. In an instant, the back of one of his too large hands makes contact with her son's unprotected face with a nauseating smack, sending him head-first into the sharp edge of the coffee table. Severus just sits there in shock as blood from the small gash trickles into one of his tear-filled eyes. Later, as she is cleaning it, his bottom lip won't stop trembling.

It isn't even fair.

From then on Severus is more cautious around Tobias, but magic is a powerful thing, especially at that age. There's less control. Doorknobs disappear, chairs levitate, and Severus unnecessarily braces himself each time. But she takes the blame, now. Yes, she's done it, she snipes, argues back. It's the least she can do, to cower like a frightened animal as she's beaten in front of her son. She takes every slap, every hit, and when finally Tobias leaves her crumpled on the floor to retire for bed, Severus remains forgotten in the corner with his face buried in his knees, the irregular hitching of his shoulders the only sign he is still crying.

'''

It is that night, sitting on the edge of his mattress, that she tells Severus of Hogwarts. As he listens attentively, Eileen studies his face- his already sharp features have softened and there's this awe in his expression that is so utterly childlike and innocent and _wanting _that her heart clenches in response. No matter how hard he tries to stay awake, blinking determinedly against sleepiness, he gradually begins to relax against her and in a rare moment, she allows him to. The warmth of the little body slumps beside her but she continues to describe it all in detail- spells, potions, sparks trailing from the ends of wands- her voice barely a whisper, almost as if she is speaking only to herself.


End file.
